


Once There was Warmth Here

by KJDreamer



Category: A Hat in Time (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - A Virus in You, Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Suicidal Thoughts, maybe? Just tagging it to be safe, sorry not sorry :), there is no fluff here sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-18 23:33:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19344952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KJDreamer/pseuds/KJDreamer
Summary: He shouldn’t have made that drawing. He shouldn’t have made you climb that tree. He shouldn’t have gone into your phone that day. He shouldn’t have investigated the fourth wall all those months ago. He wished he had stuck to his programming or whatever the peck it was.[ Oneshot for A Virus in You AU thatBlasticHorrormade enjoy]





	Once There was Warmth Here

The first thing Snatcher noticed was the freezing cold. It radiated throughout his body, from his very bones out to the tips of his hair. No. Not his body. Yours. He wasn’t in the cellar, the pressure around his neck and arms aren’t the same. They weren’t shackles but rather bandages. There was a pressure in your right arm. An IV?

 

He remembered now. He had wanted to show you something, so he had you climb up a tree. He had been nervous, it has been a long time since he’s dabbled with art. He had carved a picture for you in the snow, you questioning what he was doing the entire time. So nervous, your hands became clammy and you slipped. And fell.  _ Into the frozen lake below.  _ He remembered the loud crackle as the ice broke. He remembered the water rushing in and freezing you two to the core. He remembered you screaming before impact. He remembered you going silent as your head hit the ice. 

 

He reached out to you. But you didn’t reach back. You must still be tired. Your body was still really cold and the fall probably affected you more than him. Yeah, that’s it. That’s why he couldn’t sense you… 

 

The nurse came in and found you awake. But it wasn’t you, it was him. But the nurse doesn’t know that. No one does. Only him. That’s fine, you’d wake up soon anyway. The nurse called for the doctor, who checked you over. Snatcher didn’t like how rough she was but was too cold to really resist. Besides, you were always more patient about physical contact than he was. She was surprised by your recovery but was happy nonetheless. 

 

She had the nurse fetch your family. He didn’t even get a chance to step out of the way before everyone streamed in and fretted over you. It made him feel bad. You were always better at comforting than he was. All he could do was give sluggish pats on their back and mumbled words that not even he was sure of what they had meant to be.

 

You still had to stay in the hospital for a couple more days, ya know, to make sure you were fine. You still didn’t wake up by the time you were released. Your body was still so  _ so _ cold. Snatcher did his best to keep it together when he got back to the others. He reassured them you were just resting. Some of them looked at him strangely though.

  
  


* * *

  
  


It’s been a month since then. Snatcher is still cold and alone. He still believes (hopes) you’ll wake up. But it’s getting really hard to keep this up. Everyone has noticed that you’re not acting like yourself. Everyone coddles him to no ends. He hates it and wishes you’d just hurry up and  _ wake up _ . He’s shut off the computer. That pecking bird keeps yelling at him. Saying you were… spouting  _ nonsense _ . He misses talking to the others though. But that’s fine.

 

It was the last day of school before break started. He gets up and starts to grab the clothes he laid out the night before. It was getting harder for him to do things in the morning, but you were a good kid, so he didn’t want to mess that up for you. So he started getting ready the night before. He looks in the mirror after he changes clothes, having long since been used to having to do it now that you were… since you went to sleep. He finds he can’t tear his gaze from the mirror. In it was you, and yet… It wasn’t. It hasn’t been since the fall.  _ But it was still your face. _

 

Snatcher’s vision blacks out for a moment. It returns at the alarmed yelling of your parents. The sight before him was a distorted image of you. The reflective surface shattered. Your fist-  _ his fist _ held in front of him, covered in glass shards and streaming blood. And for the first time in forever. Snatcher cries. He weeps. He wails.

As your parents hold him and ask him what’s wrong, he can only shake. Because you’re gone.  _ And it’s all his fault. _

  
  
  
  


He hasn’t left your bed in days. What’s the point? He was happy for the first time in ages and he pecked up and now you’re  _ dead _ . He shouldn’t have made that drawing. He shouldn’t have made you climb that tree. He shouldn’t have gone into your phone that day. He  _ shouldn’t have investigated the fourth wall all those months ago _ . He wished he had stuck to his programming or  _ whatever the peck it was _ .

 

Now he’s back stuck in the cold. Expect the person that put him there wasn’t a monster like Vanessa. It was him. He put himself back into an icy prison. And this time there was no out. Not unless he wanted to be a monster like her. Your family and friends meant the world to you. He didn’t want to continue, but he’s hurt you enough as is. But, god, it was so hard to  _ function _ . He can hear the knocks and the concerned murmurs of your father… He decides to take one more day. One more day to mourn.

 

And so he does. Once he gets up, he brushes his teeth, takes a shower and changes into new clothes. He couldn’t help but break the bathroom mirror. He hates how your face looks on him. It just… wasn’t right. So he has to bandage that up. Once he was presentable, he sits down in front of your computer. And breathes. He presses the power button and immediately regrets it. He isn’t prepared to face them. Especially not that pecking  _ owl _ . He’s not ready to be called what he is. 

_ A murderer _ . 

 

But it’s too late, the computer has booted up and it’s set to unlock via face recognition  _ like always _ . God how it could recognize her face with how  _ he’s distorted it _ was beyond him. Before he can even move, the voice he wanted to hear least blares through the speakers. 

“Aboot time ye turned this pecking thing back oan ye, peck neck! _ ”  _ Snarls the Conductor. Snatcher finds his eyes clenched shut. It’s been so long since he’s heard such a loud noise. You always had more sensitive hearing than he ever did. How you could put up with this old man baffled him still. He waits for the fowl to continue berating him. But all that meets him is silence. Suddenly he misses the screeching voice. Oh, how the silence  _ burns _ .

 

“Snatcher? Are you alright?” Came a soft high-pitched voice. He steels himself to open his eyes, though only manages to open one to a sliver. Surprisingly the Conductor doesn’t look like he wants to stab him. Rather he’s looking at him with a pitying look. His mouth hanging open as if he was at a lost for words. Next to him was the one that spoke. It was Hat Kid, or Hattie as you always called her. The memory brings tears to his eyes. Seeing this, Conductor immediately spins on his heels and rushes off. Hattie gives him a wobbly smile. 

 

She takes a step forward and asks, “How have you been doing?” Her tone was one that someone would use to soothe a distressed animal. God, how was this  _ child _ handling this better than he was? Snatcher takes a deep breath, but much to his chagrin all that came out was a broken chipped  _ sob _ . Hat Kid looks sorrowful at him, her hand extending out towards the screen that separated them. How she wishes she could physically comfort her best friend.

 

As he tries to control his heinous display of emotion, he misses the sounds of the others approaching. He glances back at the screen and shrinks back at the sight before him. Everyone had gathered. God, did that owl bring everyone to witness the berating he was surely going to give the no-longer ghost? God, he hates the pitying looks they all gave him. He’s a murderer, he knows that,  _ isn’t that enough for them? _

 

“Whitevur is pecking gaun thro' that thick skull o' yers better  _ pecking stoap _ .”

 

Snatcher stiffens. He was expecting the same screeching from before. Instead, the Conductor’s voice was lower. Sterner. Like that of a grandfather speaking to a child. God, he was talking to Snatcher like a  _ child _ . For some reason that made the tears fall harder. He can’t help but feel more terrified then if the old coot had screeched.

 

“Darling… The last month must’ve been awful. You’re a wreck,” the kind voice of DJ Grooves reaches his ears. He cringes at the bluntness, though he appreciates it. He also appreciates that he doesn’t say that it’s you that looks awful, but him. “No one blames you. Not even the Conductor, right?” Grooves continues, the sound of the Conductor groaning from presumably an elbow to the side accompanying his words. Snatcher doesn’t believe the penguin. 

 

And that’s how the rest of the reunion went. The others trying to convince him that it wasn’t his fault. But it  _ was _ . So eventually he just… breaks the screen. He panics for a moment, the thought of  _ killing more people he’s found himself caring for terrifying him _ . He shoves the chair back roughly and stumbles out of your room. He stumbles down the stairs. Your parents are rushing over to him, but he can’t handle this. He can’t hurt any more people he  _ cares about _ . And he rushes out of the house. He doesn’t know how long he runs. He doesn’t stop when he reaches the tree line. He doesn’t stop when the vegetation claws at his limbs and clothes, begging him to stop. To sleep. To never wake up. 

 

Even as his muscles and lungs burn, his blood runs cold. As cold as it’s been since that  _ damned day _ . He doesn’t understand how he can still move. How he isn’t a frozen statue. How his tears keep falling instead of clinging to his cheeks as frost. He doesn’t understand how he could be so much  _ colder _ now than in that cellar. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


He doesn’t remember tiring. He doesn’t remember sleeping. Yet he finds himself drifting in a black void. His mind is blurry. He hears a familiar laugh. God how he’s missed it. So he follows it. The inviting laugh that makes him want to never leave. And maybe he  _ won’t _ . Maybe he’ll stay. As he catches sight of you, he decides that yes, he’d like to stay.

 

You smile at him, reaching your hand out to him, and he grips it. 

 

And doesn’t let go.


End file.
